


My Brother's Lover

by barbitone



Series: Captive Prince Fanfiction [2]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Auguste (Captive Prince) Lives, F/M, M/M, Mentions of past child abuse, POV Auguste (Captive Prince), Sexual Content, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 08:16:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19808338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone
Summary: Finally they reached Ios and Damen himself greeted them at the castle gates, walking forward to clasp Auguste’s arm.“Brother!” he said with a happy smile.“Brother,” Auguste answered with a more sedate nod.“I apologize for not meeting you at the border myself,” Damen said. “There were some matters I had to attend to. I trust you enjoyed the journey?”“Your land and your people have been most hospitable,” Auguste agreed. “I believe you’ve met my brother, Prince Laurent?”He stepped aside so Laurent was no longer half-hidden behind him and watched Damen’s expression change, his eyes widening and lips parting. It was obvious he was blushing even despite his dark complexion.“You look like a landed fish, brother,” Auguste murmured, pitching his voice low so only Damen could hear.





	My Brother's Lover

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [My Brother’s Keeper](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19807213) by [barbitone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone). 



> Follow up to - [My Brother's Keeper](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19807213) It's not super necessary to read that first
> 
> This one is mostly shenanigans :) But there's also mentions of past abuse because Fuck Regent (Uncle)

* * *

The war with Akielos was brutal and endless, culminating in the bloody battle of Marlas.

Auguste held the line against wave after wave of Akielon troops, all the while knowing his _brother_ was here, somewhere in the midst of the slaughter, the churning of swords and blood. At only thirteen Laurent had insisted on fighting and no one could stop him. So Auguste held the line, if only to keep the Akielons back, to keep their soldiers at bay and as far away from Laurent as he could.

He watched his father fall some distance away, pain spiking through his heart for a moment before he had to block a blade, sever a limb, kill, kill, kill.

He was so tired of killing, of the death and pain all around him. But he had to hold the line.

Theomedes fell soon after and he took no joy in it. There was only darkness and despair.

He saw the figure coming towards him through the chaos and knew him instantly despite the blood and dirt. He’d lost his helm, his bare arms and thighs were peppered with cuts, but he came forward like an unstoppable force.

Damianos.

They clashed as the sun began to set. At only nineteen, Damianos was already a force to be reckoned with. He knocked Auguste from his horse and it was only through a burst of wild luck that Auguste managed to drag him from his saddle.

They fought, both weary down to the bone, and it was with growing horror that Auguste realized he was outmatched. This nineteen-year-old whelp had the advantage on him, and it was only a matter of time before Auguste was lying in the blood-slick mud, looking up the length of Damianos’ sword.

He couldn’t quite believe it. He was about to die. But if he died, who would take care of Laurent?

He stared into Damianos’ wild eyes, and something the Akielon prince- no, now he was a King- saw in his gaze had him faltering, stepping back. Auguste wasn’t sure what was happening, but Damianos was lowering his sword and offering his hand.

Slowly, he reached out and took it. Slowly, Damianos pulled him to his feet.

They stared at each other, hands clasped. Neither could believe or understand what was happening. In the strange hushed moment of stillness the only things Auguste could see were the tear tracks running down Damianos’ dirt and blood-stained cheeks.

The soldiers around them were watching rather than fighting, an uncertain pause spreading through the battlefield as men pulled back, disengaged, lowered their swords and waited.

“My father is dead,” Auguste said hoarsely. “As is yours.”

“Yes,” Damianos said. “We meet in this moment as Kings.”

“Then let us be better Kings than our fathers. Let us end the bloodshed.”

He waited with bated breath for what Damianos would do next. But he’d already lowered his sword. He’d already offered his hand.

Damianos nodded.

The field was silent as they finally stepped back from each other. When Damianos sheathed his sword, his soldiers, uncertainly, did the same. Auguste and the Veretians followed.

“We return to meet here in one hour,” Damianos said. “And we’ll come to terms regarding a truce.”

Auguste nodded numbly and motioned for his army to retreat and make camp.

“Auguste!”

He turned to see the familiar golden head of his brother and his knees nearly buckled with relief. He’d lost his father, he’d lost so many of his men, but at least he hadn’t lost Laurent. “Auguste,” Laurent called out, running towards him. “Is it- is it true?” he asked, panting. “There’s to be a truce?”

“Yes,” Auguste said.

“But- but-” Laurent’s eyes sparkled with anger. “But they- they attacked us, invaded our lands-”

“Theomedes- the man who launched the war- is dead,” Auguste said. “Our father is dead too. I am the King now, and I am tired of death. I need you by my side, Laurent. Please. I need your support.”

Laurent seemed taken aback by his frank words, and then his expression hardened into determination and he stepped forward to clasp Auguste’s forearm.

“I’ll always stand by your side,” he said fiercely. “If this is the path you’ve decided to walk- I’ll walk it with you.”

“You don’t know how much it gladdens my heart to hear you say that,” Auguste said with a weak smile. “Come along now, there’s very little time before we must return and decide the terms of our truce.”

They had just enough time to wash their faces and change into fresh clothing before they were returning to the spot where Damianos had offered him his hand. The bodies had been cleared away and a tent erected, the pennant of truce waving from a banner beside it.

Auguste stepped inside with Laurent walking at his right shoulder and found himself in a small intimately-lit space. Damianos was there with his man Nikandros, both of them still smelling sharply of blood, and Auguste realized that at twenty five he was the oldest one in the tent. The future of two countries was about to be decided by two nineteen-year-old boys, a child not old enough to drink, and himself- the only proper adult in sight.

He snorted out a shocked laugh that made Damianos and Nikandros flinch back, their hands dropping to their swords. That only made him laugh harder and he doubled over, propping himself up on his thighs.

 _“Auguste,”_ Laurent hissed in horror, nudging him in the side.

“Apologies,” Auguste managed as he fought to calm. It was no use. The devastation of the day, the emotion of everything that had happened, was swirling too tightly within him and spilling out in the most inappropriate way. “The- the old make war,” he forced out, trying to express what it was that he found so shockingly funny. “The young make peace. Isn’t it meant to be the other way around?”

Slowly Damianos smiled, and then he was laughing too, just as hysterically as Auguste was. Nikandros and Laurent didn’t seem particularly amused and that only made the whole thing funnier.

“Settle down,” Nikandros muttered, slapping Damianos on the back. “There’s work to be done.”

Eventually they calmed, though they had to furtively avoid each other’s gazes or risk setting off a fresh wave of childish giggling. As a result Nikandros and Laurent did most of the negotiating. It was clear at first that Nikandros thought he could bully his brother, push him around. But Laurent showed him the error of his ways, eviscerating him with his sharp wit and encyclopedic knowledge of geography, history, politics.

It took hours of going back and forth, endless iterations of the treaty dissected and discarded, until they finally came to a truce both sides were satisfied with. By then Auguste was dead on his feet and Damianos had been yawning steadily for at least an hour. Nikandros wasn’t better off, and yet Laurent still seemed fresh- his determination pushing the others to continue, not willing to be shown up by a thirteen year old boy.

Damianos signed the treaty, followed by Auguste. Afterwards Auguste was the one to offer his hand.

“I salute the wisdom of my brother in Akielos,” he said seriously, looking into Damianos’ face.

“I salute the wisdom of my brother in Vere,” Damianos echoed.

They left the tent and signaled the heralds. A horn rang out, soaring and triumphant as the coming dawn.

There was peace.

* * *

The truce lasted five years. On the fifth anniversary of the battle of Marlas Auguste met Damianos- or Damen, as he called him now- on the spot where they first signed their truce and forged a different agreement- not just a cease-fire but a true alliance between two countries.

Auguste liked Damen. They were similar in many ways, they thought along the same straight lines. They both wanted what was best for their people, and they had both become Kings before they’d become jaded by court politics and deadly games.

“I’m surprised you don’t have your brother here to do all your talking for you,” Damen teased when they went for a ride together afterwards.

“I know you better now,” Auguste said with a snort. “As if I’d let a blue-eyed blonde within ten paces of you. You’d deflower him in an instant and then I’d have to slay you in a duel. It would really set back our alliance.”

Damen laughed, throwing his head back. “He’s only sixteen, isn’t he? I doubt he has anything to fear from me.”

“He’s eighteen, and you haven’t seen him,” Auguste countered. He’d practically had to beat the suitors back with a stick. “I’m not letting him anywhere near you.”

“You wound me,” Damen pouted. “Just as much as you intrigue me. Come to Ios- you’ve still yet to tour my shining capital. It stands like a pillar jutting into the sea, it’s beautiful.”

“The white city,” Auguste said thoughtfully. “I’ll admit I’ve always wanted to see it.”

“So come see it,” Damen said. “And bring your blue-eyed blonde of a brother,” he added with a good-natured wink.

“Oh, _you,”_ Auguste said, reaching out to slap him in the shoulder.

Damen simply laughed and spurred his horse into a gallop and they raced through the grassy sun-lit field that had once been a forest of death and was now a bastion of hope and a monument to peace.

After he returned to Arles he couldn’t stop thinking about what Damen had said. 

He pondered it during one of the state dinners as servants brought out course after endless course of tasty dainties.

No Veretian King had stepped foot in Ios in hundreds of years. It would be a historic moment that would only solidify their alliance.

He looked over at where Laurent was sitting, serious and severe in his simple but richly tailored clothing, laced up from neck to toe. He seemed content as Auguste’s right hand, he took to the twisting Veretian court politics like a fish to water. Without him Auguste had a feeling he would have been victim to a coup or assassination years ago.

He was wholly devoted to the crown, to Auguste. He had no friends, no hobbies, he showed no interest in any of his often very enthusiastic suitors. He’d never even taken a pet. In fact, he acted like there was ice in his veins unless they were alone, when he deigned to smile on occasion and sometimes even loosen the laces of his doublet. He’d been so quick to laugh as a child and now Auguste was lucky if he heard it more than once per year.

Was he truly happy?

Was Auguste truly doing his duty to him?

“Laurent,” Auguste said, kicking him under the table.

Laurent looked over with a frown. “Yes, your majesty?”

“When was the last time you had fun?”

“Fun?” Laurent asked, furrowing his brow like he didn’t even know what the word meant.

It was in that moment that Auguste made his decision. They were going to Ios.

* * *

It took another year to plan the trip, and then Nikandros met the Veretian delegation at the border and his men escorted them to Ios via a meandering scenic route. They traveled in style and comfort and were received at Akielon strongholds that no Veretian had stepped foot in before. They spent three days touring the famous vineyards in Mellos, and nearly a week in the legendary library on the coast of Thrace. In Kesus they took a detour through the flower fields and swam in crystal clear coastal waters.

Finally they reached Ios and Damen himself greeted them at the castle gates, walking forward to clasp Auguste’s arm.

“Brother!” he said with a happy smile.

“Brother,” Auguste answered with a more sedate nod.

“I apologize for not meeting you at the border myself,” Damen said. “There were some matters I had to attend to. I trust you enjoyed the journey?”

“Your land and your people have been most hospitable,” Auguste agreed. “I believe you’ve met my brother, Prince Laurent?”

He stepped aside so Laurent was no longer half-hidden behind him and watched Damen’s expression change, his eyes widening and lips parting. It was obvious he was blushing even despite his dark complexion.

“You look like a landed fish, brother,” Auguste murmured, pitching his voice low so only Damen could hear.

Abruptly Damen closed his mouth with an audible click of teeth. “Prince-” his voice came out strangled and he cleared his throat awkwardly while Auguste tried not to laugh. “Prince Laurent,” Damen managed at last, bowing deeply. “What an- an honor that you’ve come.”

“The honor is all mine, King Damianos,” Laurent said, his voice as smooth as the surface of an iced over lake. He bowed to the perfect depth, not a hairsbreadth lower than he needed to, as their ranks accorded.

Auguste doubted Damen would have noticed either way. The only thing he seemed capable of noticing was the way the sun was playing over Laurent’s golden hair. Laurent straightened and met Damen’s eyes cooly while the King still looked like he was trying to recover from being struck by lighting.

“Brother?” Auguste prompted, tilting his head to the side.

“Yes,” Damen said. “Let me- let me show you the palace, so you might avail yourselves of our hospitality and rest from your journey.”

He turned on his heel a little more abruptly than was necessary and walked off with quick steps like he was trying to run away. Auguste only smiled as he followed, Laurent as ever at his right shoulder.

The palace was beautiful and stark, until they entered a more intimately lit chamber, the walls draped with silks. There were two dozen slaves kneeling in perfectly straight rows wearing little but gauzy silks.

“While you are here, we’d be honored if you would choose a slave to serve you,” Damen said, spreading his hands wide in invitation.

“I’ve heard a great many tales about Akielon palace slaves,” August said, oddly pleased. He wasn’t expecting the gesture, even though in his head he knew it was a traditional offer of respect. To his left were a dozen women, to his right a dozen men. They were all different, all exquisite in their own ways. He walked down the line until he stopped before a woman with rich dark hair falling down her shoulders in luxurious curls. She had dusky skin and a narrow waist, beautifully turned wrists.

Auguste wasn’t entirely sure of the proper etiquette, but he had a feeling that in this situation any blunders he made would be forgiven. He knelt before the woman on one knee. “Look at me, my dear,” he murmured. She gasped at the sound of his voice and trembled. Slowly she looked up, blushing prettily. She had startlingly green eyes and plush pink lips. She was absolutely lovely.

“What is your name?”

She bit her lip. “M-Merope,” she whispered.

“Are you afraid of me?” Auguste asked gently.

“M-my lord,” she whispered, dropping her gaze to the floor. “You- you honor this slave with your attention. It is- I’m- overwhelmed.”

Auguste glanced back at Damen. It seemed it was Damen’s turn to stifle laughter. Auguste raised his eyebrows quizzically, a silent question- _am I doing something wrong?_

Damen shrugged, raising an eyebrow in return in a way that meant- something. He’d probably step in if Auguste was embarrassing himself too badly. Probably.

“Merope,” Auguste said, turning back to her. “What a lovely name. Would you do me the honor of serving me during my stay?”

She looked up at him in shock, her eyes wide. She was blushing furiously now and he could see the way the blush spread down her neck, her chest. Her nipples were hard. He dragged his eyes away before he embarrassed himself. “My dear, if you don’t find me pleasing you need only say so and I’ll choose someone else.”

“Don’t choose someone else!” she gasped desperately, reaching out to set her hands on his knee. Her breaths were coming quick, if anything her nipples were even harder. She seemed so eager and Auguste wondered if she was wet already, just from this. From his attention. The thought was powerfully arousing.

She seemed to realize what she was doing and pulled back with a gasp, prostrating herself before him. “Apologies, my lord. This slave has been impertinent. This slave wishes only to serve. It is not this slave’s place to comment on who my lord should or should not choose-”

“Easy, my dear,” Auguste interrupted. “I’d love to choose you.”

 _“Auguste,”_ Laurent hissed, flushed and indignant.

“An excellent choice, brother,” Damen said. “I’ll have Merope escorted to your rooms.”

“Auguste!” Laurent said, slightly louder.

“Yes, darling?” Auguste smirked, walking closer to him.

“A woman?” he whispered angrily. “It- it isn’t done! It isn’t proper!”

“When in Akielos, do as the Akielons do,” Auguste said with a cheeky smile.

“Quite right,” Damen said, walking closer. “I'm honored to offer you Merope’s first night.”

“First night?” Auguste asked.

Laurent crossed his arms over his chest. “Fantastic. So neither of you will know what you’re doing,” he muttered under his breath.

“Maybe,” Auguste said. “Maybe not.”

“Auguste!” Laurent exclaimed before lowering his voice self-consciously. “You didn’t!”

“Certainly not,” Auguste said. “...or did I?”

Laurent’s face went through an interesting sequence of colors- pale, flushed, pale again-

“And what about you, Prince Laurent?” Damen interrupted. “I take it you’d prefer a man?”

“No, thank you,” Laurent said primly.

“A woman?” Damen asked, feigning surprise.

“No!” Laurent said, flushing again.

“Tell me what you like and we’ll find a way to accommodate you,” Damen said. “What about Euthynos,” he said, pointing to a particularly well-built male slave. To Auguste’s great amusement he noticed the slave’s build and coloring was surprisingly similar to Damen’s own.

“Perhaps Euthynos is to your liking?” Damen asked.

“I’ll not be partaking in any slaves,” Laurent said. “Thank you,” he gritted out.

“A shame,” Damen said. “But if you change your mind-”

“I’d like to retire now,” Laurent said, uncharacteristically brusque.

“We’re quite tired from our journey,” Auguste said, draping an arm over Laurent’s shoulders.

“I’m sure,” Damen said with a smile. “Let me show you to your rooms.”

Auguste followed, Laurent in tow, and Damen showed them to a set of luxurious rooms that shared a central entrance hall.

“Let the servants know if you need anything,” he said with a polite nod. “We’ll see you at the feast this evening.”

“Thank you, brother,” Auguste said and they clasped hands before Damen left and they were alone.

Laurent shivered, wrapping his arms around himself as he took in the space.

“What’s wrong?” Auguste asked.

“You… He’s not…” Laurent licked his lips and broke off, looking away awkwardly.

“What’s wrong?” Auguste pushed. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“He’s not your brother!” Laurent hissed. “I am! And I-”

Auguste paused, wide-eyed as he watched Laurent struggling to put his thoughts into words.

“Laurent,” Auguste said firmly and Laurent looked up, biting his lip. It was more emotion than he’d seen from him in years and it gladdened his heart to know there was still a beating heart beneath his cold exterior. He was right to bring him to Ios. Maybe these warm lands, these warm people, could melt Laurent at last.

Auguste stepped forward to take Laurent’s face in his hands.

“I love you,” he said. “More than anyone, more than life itself. I would hope that you know that. If you don’t like it here- if you truly wish to leave- you need only to say so and we’ll leave at once.”

“I just…” 

“Just what?” Auguste asked gently. “Tell me. Tell me what you need and I’ll make it so.”

Laurent turned away, some of the familiar chill entering his manner.

“I’ll tell you the truth,” Auguste said before Laurent locked himself wholly away. “Look at me.”

Laurent looked back, his blue eyes wide and for once, uncertain.

“We’re here for _you,”_ Auguste said quietly. “I fear you’ve locked yourself away where no joy or pleasure can ever touch you. It breaks my heart to think you’ve hidden yourself from anything good this world might have to offer.”

Laurent’s chin quivered, his eyes growing red as he stared back at him.

“Darling?” Auguste asked uncertainly. “Laurent.”

Laurent looked away, raising his hand to rub at his eyes. “We can stay,” he said quietly. “For now, we can stay.”

“Alright,” Auguste said with a small smile. “Try to relax a little. Who knows, you might even have fun.”

“Fun is a waste of time,” Laurent scoffed and he sounded more like himself. “Don’t you have… _nonsense_ to be getting on with?” he asked, waving vaguely towards the door that led to Auguste’s bedroom.

Merope.

“She has a name,” Auguste teased, nudging Laurent in the side.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Laurent said with a frown.

“Do I ever?”

“Constantly.”

Auguste laughed and ruffled Laurent’s hair just to annoy him before turning and walking to his bedroom.

Merope was there already, kneeling with perfect posture.

“How shall I serve you?” she asked quietly, her voice trembling with what Augste now understood to be eagerness.

“Could you show me to the baths?” he asked.

“Of course, my lord,” she breathed out before rising to her feet. “This way.”

She must have led him through some private corridor, or maybe Damen had ordered the area cleared, because they didn’t pass anyone else. The baths were empty too, a tiled room with a deep pool set into it, steaming faintly.

Merope undressed him, the slide of laces through eyelets oddly sensual in the steamy room. She was blushing, the color only deepening with every garment she removed. Once he was bare he stepped into the pool, smiling at the pleasant warmth, and didn’t need to turn to know she had followed.

He let himself enjoy her gentle touch as she bathed him and then turned and took her in his arms, tilting his head down to press a soft kiss against her lips. She reciprocated easily and eagerly, wrapping her arms around his bare shoulders and moaning softly as he parted her lips with his tongue.

It had been a long time since he’d had a woman, the pleasure not easily found in Vere, especially not for a King. She felt so good in his arms, endless smooth soft skin pressed against him. He couldn’t get enough of burying his fingers in her thick curls, of caressing her breasts and holding her narrow waist. He let his hands explore lower, gripping her firm buttocks tightly for a moment before sliding around, brushing gently against her sex.

She moaned, throwing her head back as she panted for breath, her eyes fluttering closed. He watched closely as she lost herself in pleasure, momentarily forgetting her duties here, and he brought her to climax with just his fingers. The sounds she made were pure and sensual, he was rock-hard in the water.

When she opened her eyes she seemed almost surprised, and then, oddly, embarrassed.

“You’re so very beautiful like this, Merope,” Auguste murmured into her ear.

“M-my Lord,” she breathed out in pleasure and then Auguste claimed her lips again and tightened his hold over her waist, using it to lift her out of the pool and sit her down on the edge of the smooth tiles. He parted her legs and draped them over his shoulders as he bent to kiss her inner thighs, moving inexorably higher as he inhaled her heady scent.

She made some small sound of shocked protest when he kissed her sex, but soon he had her shaking wordlessly against him, and brought her to a second climax with his mouth.

Merope seemed dazed after and Auguste couldn’t help smiling at her.

“But, my lord,” she protested when he left the pool, still hard. “I haven’t… pleased you?”

“You please me greatly,” Auguste said, toweling himself off. “As for this small matter,” he gestured to his erection with a grin, “I’d prefer to wait until tonight. I enjoy the anticipation. And I wouldn’t want to wear you out so soon- you must still serve me at the feast.”

“It’s not small,” she whispered, almost despite herself, and he found himself laughing.

“You spoil this slave, my lord,” she said, rising to her feet.

He toweled her off too, and as she seemed a little unsteady he carried her back to his bedroom and set her to doze on the bed while he went out onto the balcony to look down at the well-manicured gardens below. There was an elaborate fountain in the center and couples strolling down twisting paths lined with flowers and carefully trimmed hedges.

The Akielons had a less rigid form of dress than Veretians, and given that he still had a towel around his waist he figured it wouldn’t be too scandalous if anyone happened to look up and catch sight of him.

As he enjoyed the view he wondered about Laurent, how he was spending his time. Reading, probably. Or maybe scheming. That seemed to be one of the few things that gave him pleasure these days, ousting Auguste’s political enemies from court.

He was exceedingly good at it. Once there were no more enemies left, what exactly would he spend his time on? Auguste didn’t want him to turn into a cold and calculating paranoiac, but that seemed to be the path he was on. 

He was nineteen and, to the best of Auguste’s knowledge, still a virgin. Briefly Auguste wondered if he was afraid. If the thought of sex and anything to do with it brought him back to that day in his bedroom, to uncle’s disgusting advances, to Auguste, bludgeoning uncle to death right before Laurent’s eyes.

Auguste shivered, his hands tightening over the balustrade. That had been nine years ago. For Auguste it felt like a lifetime had passed. Maybe it was not so for Laurent.

Auguste had responded to uncle’s abuse by losing himself in the soft welcoming touch of women, by focusing everything he had on his training so that he would be strong enough never to be hurt again. Laurent responded by growing cold and distant and making every effort to appear untouchable, by bringing everything around him under his power, his iron will. As though that might erase the moment when uncle wrested control from him.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by Merope’s gentle hands on his back and turned to her, taking her lips a little desperately in an attempt to forget about the nasty things that had happened in the past, focusing on something good instead. She moaned softly and that helped. He wanted to make her moan again, louder, he wanted to make her lose control.

There’d be time for that later.

He pulled away and she smiled, daringly running her fingertips over the side of his face before jerking her hand back. Her eyes were glittering with mischief; she looked for all the world like a naughty child who’d gotten away with stealing an extra slice of cake.

She took his hand and drew him back into the room, and there she helped dress him in the Akielon garb provided to him, a rich blue cloth fastened into place with a starburst pin.

“How do I look?” he asked with a cheeky spin.

“Beautiful,” she breathed out before blushing and lowering her face to the floor.

“I like it when you show yourself,” Auguste said, taking her chin and kissing her, glorying in the way she clutched at his shoulders. It was only with great reluctance that he finally pulled away.

He went out into the entrance hall, Merope following respectfully, to meet Laurent.

“What are you wearing?” Laurent asked, wrinkling his nose faintly. He was still laced up from neck to toe, though he’d changed into a slightly more ornate doublet than the austere clothing he generally preferred.

“When in Akielos,” Auguste answered.

Laurent’s pinched expression showed what he thought of that and Auguste laughed and took his arm to lead him outside.

Merope showed them to the banquet hall, lively with guests and slaves alike, full of Akielon red and Veretian blue. Auguste sat sprawled comfortably over a low Akielon couch with Merope kneeling on the ground beside him, feeding him the choicest morsels from the banquet plates with a besotted smile.

Laurent was sitting in a pose that probably read as “relaxed” to anyone who didn’t know him as well as Auguste did. There were toasts and entertainments, slaves dancing beautifully to the elegant strumming of kitharas. Auguste drank slowly, Laurent drank not at all.

“Brother,” Damen said with a wide smile, walking up to sit beside him. “Prince Laurent.”

Laurent greeted him politely and with careful distance before turning his attention elsewhere. Damen’s gaze dropped to Merope, resting her head on Auguste’s knee.

“Auguste, you beast,” Damen laughed. “I’ve never seen a slave reduced to such a puddle of contentment.”

“You present yourself in an unfavorable light,” Auguste said with a wink. “You’re twenty-five, surely you’ve learned your way around a woman by now?”

He reached out and took an apricot stuffed with sweet cream off a nearby platter, meeting Damen’s gaze and raising his eyebrows. “I could teach you a few things if you like,” he added, pointedly licking the cream out of the fruit.

Merope gasped and blushed, hiding her face against his thigh. Laurent stood abruptly and left to mingle with the other guests while Damen watched him go with longing.

“You’ve gone and upset him,” Damen said.

“He’ll be fine,” Auguste replied. “He could use a bit of teasing now and then.”

For a long time Damen followed Laurent’s progress through the hall. He spoke to courtiers, Akielons and Veretians alike, and stopped before a slave playing the kithara. The slave blushed and averted his eyes and they spoke before the slave smiled and offered up the instrument, showing Laurent how to strum a few chords.

“Auguste,” Damen said, and when Auguste looked over at him he seemed oddly serious.

“What is it?”

“I’m begging you, Auguste,” Damen said, taking one of his hands in both of his. “Please give me permission to court your brother.”

Auguste laughed in surprise. “Contrary to the rumors- I’m not actually his keeper.”

“You’re his brother, and his King. And I wouldn’t want you to be forced to slay me in a duel.”

“A healthy fear,” Auguste agreed. His eyes found Laurent again, a small genuine smile over his face as the slave explained something, pointing to the strings. He didn’t think Damen would succeed, but he doubted harm would come from the trying. Not harm to Laurent, at least. “I’m more afraid for you than I am for him,” Auguste said. “If you wish to court him, I won’t stand in your way. I’m sure it goes without saying that if you hurt him-”

“Disembowelment, war, Akielos burning and broken under your feet, understood,” Damen said. “You’re a doll, Auguste. Enjoy the rest of the feast.” Damen clapped him on the back warmly before standing and wandering away.

Auguste didn’t bother keeping track of either of them after that, enjoying Merope’s company and the entertainment provided. When the evening grew late she offered to show him the gardens, and they strolled down the paths arm in arm until Auguste heard familiar voices and pulled her to a stop.

He brought his finger to his lips and winked at her, taking her hand and stealing closer to the fountain, where Damen stood with Laurent.

Damen was talking, his voice low and fond, smiling as he said something. Auguste couldn’t quite make out the words but it was clear it was some compliment, maybe a proposition. Laurent was holding himself as stiffly as ever, a slight flush over his cheeks. Damen raised his hand to carefully push a lock of hair behind Laurent’s ear, letting his fingers linger as if by accident, brushing the side of his face as he pulled back.

Laurent didn’t flinch or stop him, but neither did he melt. He said something brusque and turned to go, leaving Damen staring after him in shock.

“What did he say?” Auguste asked, showing himself at last.

Damen turned to look at him, his lips still parted. He looked like he’d been slapped in the face. “He said… he said he won’t be my- my _whore.”_

“And what did you say?”

“I’d simply- I’d simply told him how beautiful he was. How much I wanted him.”

Auguste snorted. “I could have told you that wouldn’t work.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“You didn’t ask.”

Damen still seemed oddly dazed as he ran his fingers through his hair. “Well- what am I to do now?”

“Do you expect me to help you fuck my brother?” Auguste asked, a little more sharply than he’d intended.

“What-?” Damen asked, blinking slowly. “Auguste, I’m not simply- I’m not trying to- to- _use him._ I think he’s- brilliant.”

“You’ve barely spoken two words to each other,” Auguste countered.

Damen blushed and looked down, and suddenly Auguste felt regret over what he’d said. Damen was still young, it was easy to forget that at times. He was young, and his blood ran hot, but he was a good and true man. And Laurent was truly singular. He exuded strength and confidence, and something about his distance tended to draw people in. This wasn’t the first time someone had fallen for him at first sight.

Auguste sighed. “If you chase him, he will run.”

Damen looked up at him sharply, and Auguste knew that he’d taken more from the words than perhaps what Auguste had meant to share. “Thank you,” Damen said seriously.

“You are my brother in Akielos,” Auguste said, reaching out to set his hand on Damen’s shoulder. “But he is my flesh and blood, my heart and soul.”

“He is your brain, for sure,” Damen said with a grin.

“Shut it, you!” Auguste said with a laugh, slapping him in the shoulder playfully. “I’m serious,” he added when they’d calmed. “He’s… complicated. Brittle. Be careful with him, please.”

“I will be,” Damen said seriously and Auguste knew he could trust him.

He nodded and turned back to Merope, who’d been dutifully pretending not to listen to their exchange.

He took her hand and she led him back to his bedroom, where she helped him undress before he unpinned the gauzy silks keeping her half-covered. He kissed her slowly, gently, touching her with the utmost tenderness. He pushed his fingers into her tight heat, easing her into the sensation, and when he finally entered her she let out a sigh of pure pleasure.

He brought her to climax twice before he allowed himself his own release, and then gathered her to his chest as they both fell inexorably into deep slumber.

Sometime past midnight he woke to a soft knock on the door and stood from the bed, pulling on a shirt and a pair of soft trousers.

“What’s wrong?” Merope murmured sleepily and he leaned in to brush her hair back from her forehead and pressed a kiss there.

“Nothing at all,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

Laurent was waiting for him on the other side of the door, nervous as he stood dressed only in a night shirt.

Auguste took his hand and led him back to his own bedroom, where they curled up in bed together with Auguste holding him. They’d spent every night together like this after Auguste had taken him to Acquitart nine years ago, holding each other close as if the proximity might heal the both of them after what had happened. 

“What’s wrong?” Auguste whispered into the darkness as Laurent trembled.

For a long time he was silent, but finally he spoke. “I’m afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Everything,” Laurent said with a shuddering sigh. “Losing everything. Losing you.”

“I’m right here,” Auguste said, tightening his arms. “I’ll always be here to watch over you. Don’t let your fear drown you.”

“I’ll… I’ll try,” Laurent said uncertainly, and Auguste held him until they were both pulled towards sleep.

* * *

Auguste woke to soft golden light and Laurent sleeping peacefully beside him, drool leaking from his slack mouth to pool on the pillow. He grinned and reached out to pinch Laurent’s nose closed, sending him struggling and indignant back to abrupt wakefulness.

He couldn’t hold in a laugh at Laurent’s furious expression, and that was why he wasn’t ready when Laurent shoved him bodily out of bed. Auguste hit the floor with a thump in a tangle of blankets, still laughing while Laurent glared down at him, his usually perfectly-combed hair in complete disarray.

 _“Auguste,”_ Laurent said, his voice dripping with disbelieving betrayal.

Auguste managed to stand, patting Laurent on the head before making his way out.

They had breakfast together in their shared hall, alone for the time being while Merope was in the baths.

“What do you think of the King?” Auguste asked mildly.

“I think he snores like a bear,” Laurent said, kicking him under the table.

“Not me,” Auguste laughed. “Damianos.”

He watched closely as Laurent blushed and pointedly looked away. So there was something there after all. It made sense- Damen was handsome, powerful. He was open and honest in a way that was unusual in the Veretian court. He was a born king and the weight of his attention, affection, was a powerful thing.

“He seems quite taken with you,” Auguste added.

Laurent snorted, picking at his breakfast. “He’d be taken with a cow- provided it had long eyelashes and the right coloring.”

“Come now,” Auguste said, fighting not to laugh. “He’s a good man.”

“I know you think so,” Laurent said diplomatically. “We’ll only be here a month, I don’t see the point in getting involved.”

“Might do you some good to have a fling."

“If I wanted a _fling_ I’d go and find one. Would you please leave it alone?”

Auguste shrugged and turned the conversation towards a more neutral topic, but he couldn’t stop smiling.

Laurent was blushing. Laurent was talking to him, _joking_ with him. He seemed his age in a way that he didn’t usually, young and innocent as he tried to hide a smile behind a glass of water.

Mentally Auguste was patting himself on the back. Out of the two of them, Laurent was the strategist. But in this, at least, Auguste could feel a tactical play completed successfully, and a war soon to be won.

* * *

When Damen set his mind on something, he found a way to get it- as became immediately apparent.

 _“If you chase him, he will run,”_ Auguste had told him.

It seemed that Damen had taken those words to heart. Damen stopped chasing. Instead, he put all of his efforts into enticing Laurent to come to him, instead. Auguste could see it, the court could see it, hell- even Laurent could see it even through all his romantic inexperience. Damen wasn’t trying to be subtle about it in the least, and Auguste could see that Laurent found it charming despite himself.

Damen showed Laurent the coast and the city, the surrounding countryside. He took Laurent hunting and showed off during training and tournaments, all the various games the Akielons enjoyed. He did it all under the guise of spending time with Auguste, of course, and Auguste found himself playing chaperone as Laurent slowly relaxed.

He wasn’t sure exactly when the shift happened, but he thought the wrestling competition might have been the final straw.

Laurent was disciplined, principled. He’d surrounded himself with a collection of walls bristling with traps and sharp edges. He had defenses against lies and deception, plotting and scheming. He had no defenses against a true and honest man that wanted him with pure desire unmotivated by self-promotion. He certainly had no defenses against that same man, nude and powerfully built with his muscles glistening with oil, wrestling equally nude soldiers into submission right before his eyes.

Auguste watched out of the corner of his eye as Laurent blushed but was unable to look away as Damen took another opponent down into the sand.

“I think I’ll retire early tonight,” Auguste said.

“As you say,” Laurent nodded, clearly distracted. Auguste bit back his smile and motioned for Merope to join him, leaving Laurent alone in the hall.

He woke as dawn was breaking and went out into the main part of the room just in time to catch Damen sneaking out of his brother’s bedroom.

Damen froze as he stared, wide-eyed and blushing. There was a love bite low on his chest, barely hidden by the drape of his chiton. 

“Damen!” Laurent’s voice hissed. “You forgot your-” he followed Damen out and froze just as completely, his face flushing a bright red.

“Belt?” Auguste asked, bemused as he took in Damen’s belt dangling from Laurent’s hand. “Brother,” he greeted Damen. _“Brother,”_ he greeted Laurent.

“Brother,” Damen and Laurent said in unison.

“How nice that we are all brothers here,” Auguste said. “So, Damen. When do you intend to visit Vere?”

Suddenly he could see it, Damen and Laurent, walking arm in arm through the halls of Arles, sitting on twin thrones in Ios. He could see something else, too. A strange dream that suddenly felt as if it could be real. A golden dawn, a grassy field growing up in place of a pool of blood, a shivering horn that signaled peace. A lion and a rising star, side by side.

“Soon,” Damen said, his voice coming out strangled as he fought to center himself. “I’d love to visit Vere as soon as you’ll have me.”

Auguste smiled. “We’d be glad to welcome you any time. Brother.”

It was one kingdom, once.

  


_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [barbitone](http://barbitone.tumblr.com/) and pillowfort also at [barbitone](https://www.pillowfort.io/barbitone)


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